


Baby Steps

by wisteriawall



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Beach Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, One Shot, One True Pairing, Outdoor Sex, Past Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Short & Sweet, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisteriawall/pseuds/wisteriawall
Summary: Finnick and Annie explore a long road to discovering their relationship to intimacy, sex, and each other; but not necessarily in that order.
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair
Kudos: 16





	Baby Steps

**i.**

They were good together, she’d heard that several times before. That Annie was good, and that Finnick was better with her in his life, and that he had been noticeably happier. The beginning of their relationship was a blur. It started somewhere between the accidental sleepovers where they’d given in to their exhaustion together as the fall crawled in and the time where she had screamed through tears that she loved him in the spring.

  
**ii.**

Maybe it had been several weeks into the sleepovers between friends, when she’d woken up first (she always did) and noticed that Finnick was awake, too. His breathing had changed, but their faces were obscured. Her back stayed pressed to his chest, one of his arms beneath her head, and the other around her body, holding her hand in the shallow valley between her breasts. Neither moved, she wasn’t sure if he knew she was awake, but there was still the silent decision from both parties to not address the strangeness. For him to pull her closer, for her to oblige, and for them to not speak until long after the golden daylight filled the room, filtered through gauzy curtains floating peacefully in the sea breeze. 

  
**iii.**

Or maybe it was the pattern of this behavior becoming apparent. The way that every night of her victory tour, either one or the other would end up switching beds. There was no pretending by that point, the shared warmth was a comfort, their scents a reminder of home. The visitor would always leave in the morning before anyone else woke, going without a word. The bed felt colder all alone. Did he feel the same way then?

  
**iv.**

Perhaps, still, it was when the cuddling had turned to kissing, as was the natural turn of events between two star crossed lovers. They were in Four again by that time, and so the oppressive heat often meant a liberal definition as to what constituted clothing. The skin on skin contact meant much more than it had with the heavy sweatpants and fleece-lined tops on the victory tour’s colder stops. 

It had been innocent at first. A kiss on the back of her head when he thought she had fallen asleep (she hadn’t). Then, days later, a kiss on his hand as she told him goodnight. Soon, it had become something more. A release of tensions, easing into the gentle nights that their presence provided, or a reminder that they, too, were still human and still young despite how the world treated them. Annie was still sane, Finnick was still capable of receiving healthy touches, and neither had to know how close to the surface the other’s struggles were.

  
**v.**

Though it could have also been the indisputable fact that kissing often led to Annie topless, which Finnick didn’t seem to mind. She lacked a proper shirt most days, to begin with. When they could let the struggles of the day fall to the wayside, which was increasingly often, they were all fire and water. It was always breathless gasps, purplish spots on shoulders, traveling hands, and desperate friction between hips. Underwear was always involved, and hands never went where they would cross the line of sex. It was fine, and they didn’t have to address it other than in the moonlit oasis of Annie’s bedroom. She did, however, become increasingly aware of the way her view of him changed. Each of these changes ended up in a diary through both prose or stanza. Only in those pages could she be sure that her mad girl’s love song would go uncriticized. 

She had fallen, it wasn’t a fair game anymore. These rendezvous became habitual, and it had started to hurt whenever he left.

  
**vi.**

If it wasn’t any of the times before, then it had to have been when they had a picnic off in a secluded section of the rolling beaches. It wasn’t good for swimming— too rocky— but the outcrop made for a good setting for their outings. Were they dates? They couldn’t have been, because they didn’t kiss. Why didn’t they kiss? 

He noticed before she did that the emotions had started to build up. Finnick always knew. It was one of the reasons she had fallen for him. The ability to sense her unease before her senses were overstimulated was a gift, but more importantly, it showed an attention to detail that no one else had bothered to attempt. 

“Hey... you okay?”

Three words were all it took for her to lose her composure. Her green eyes were emphasized by the redness from the stress of keeping tears from spilling over. Accompanying this was the sudden sob that left her lips. A delicate hand flew to her face. Had she made that sound? She must have-- his expression filled with concern. The hand was no longer soft, but firm as she pressed her palm to her mouth, willing any sound to stay in. Her self control had failed her because before she knew what was happening, there were no longer rocks beneath her bare feet. She made it to the sand, oblivious to the footsteps following behind.

Her nails dug into her cheek. She had ruined it. She ruined _them_. What was she to do now? He would hate her. She had ruined this. She was so stu—

“Annie!” 

His clear voice always brought her back, followed quickly by calloused fingers peeling her hand from her face. When did he end up in front of her? She didn’t remember that development. 

With a hand no longer covering her mouth, she couldn’t help the way everything spilled out. Almost a year of emotions now, as the Seventy-First Hunger Games were just three months away. Too many emotions to be vocalized properly, and so they just began to spill out. 

“I’m in love with you!” She blurted out, surprising herself with the blunt delivery. His expression went into shock. Oh no. Well, she had already started, and there was no way to stop now. “Why can’t you just love me back when it’s all I’ve ever wanted from you? All you do is give me a glimpse of what it would feel like, and then you take it away, and I just let you!” 

Annie wasn’t sure how much of her speech made sense, as she was sobbing through her words, yelling into the wind. She wasn’t even sure if it was fully directed at him anymore, or if it was just the ramblings that didn’t quite make it to paper for the night. 

The broad man in front of her was rarely rendered speechless and this proved to be the exception. Many a confession of love had been sent his way over the years, but none that resonated so strongly as the one from the woman who, by his admission, was one of the few things that allowed him to feel alive. There were no words to describe the emotions in his chest. The feeling must have always been there, something repressed, never allowed to bubble up for fear of retaliation. Perhaps she had just crept up on him and pounced, stirring something that he ought to have seen long ago. 

Too much time had passed in silence, they both knew that. Annie’s fragile chest still rose and fell to a shaky staccato, recovering from the outburst. Her eyes were still pooling, and his were too, even if he wasn’t entirely aware of it. His lips opened several times to speak, but words couldn’t find their way to the surface. 

Quite a while more passed before a response could be given, whispered in the privacy that would set the tone for what would become their future. All that anyone else (including Annie’s diary) would be told about the contents of his confession was that the road ahead was uncertain, but that she had promised to walk alongside him so long as he did the same for her. 

  
**vii.**

That was certainly an official start even if things were too far progressed to comfortably call themselves a new couple. He knew that she liked it when he sang poorly in the shower, and she knew that if she kissed a particular spot beneath his ear, he would be putty in her hands. With the understanding that rules didn’t apply to them, things moved quickly aside from one notable exception. 

He could kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, lavish her body in the trail of his lips, let her buck her hips upwards against his, and all was fine. She would ask him to say her name as she sat in his lap and returned the same affections, and he would happily oblige (“Annie, Annie, _Annie_ ”). Even then, all it took was a tracing of a fingertip across his waistband for it all to stop. He would freeze, and his breathing would halt. 

It always stopped, the once heated moment immediately cooled with her chorus of “Are you okay?” She would be on the other side of the bed in an instant, he had told her once that he didn’t want to be touched anymore, and she would always listen. Even in such a state, it gave him comfort with how much personal autonomy the situation offered. Even with each attempt gone sour, they continued to attempt because he so desperately wanted to. The block would always activate, and she would always keep watch for his warning signs even more closely than he did. 

It was a source of frustration for both. Not for each other— never towards each other— but for the situation at hand. His disclaimer before entering any sort of relationship with Annie had included the deep secrets of his abuse since winning the games, and she had taken the knowledge with the utmost respect that she could offer. It was unfair, she often thought to herself, how anyone could hurt him the way they did. Unfair and cruel. Still, it was a piece of the puzzle that made up Finnick Odair, and she had the realization that she loved each facet of his being. 

He, too, found supreme frustration in the methods his body found of blocking her affections. Being a young man in an entanglement with someone who rewrote his very definition of beauty, words didn’t exist to describe just what he wanted to do to her. Or rather, what he wanted to do with her. Finnick was well versed in the realm of all things physical, but he had come to discover that it was Annie with the only actual knowledge about sex. Annie who had always asked if things were okay, and always assured that he could ask her to stop at any time. Perhaps more importantly, he admired the way she would stop even when he couldn’t form the words, which was most of the time. “No” was a word that never fully came to fruition in his personal dictionary. As it turned out, with Annie, he didn’t need it. 

  
**viii.**

It was her idea that they try somewhere else. They would go on a date to the beach, as they so often did, just with a few more blankets, a bit more alcohol, and an open mind. The bedroom, she guessed, was the barrier put between them. A space too close to the ones that may have been provided in the Capitol and too far removed from the elements that made up “home” in his mind. 

A fire burned, sending dancing colors across their skin. There must have been ghost crabs somewhere along their stretch of beach, but they seemed to provide the couple with a bit of privacy for now. With just her hands resting on his cheeks as they kissed, all smiles from both parties, it was immediately clear that he had relaxed. It might have been the familiar feel of the packed sand beneath a blanket, the fire’s interactions with the salt air, or the rhythmic beating of the waves against the shore that allowed his release, but Annie suspected it to be a mixture of it all. Though she had taken the silent job of keeping an eye on their situation, she let him take the lead with the encounter, working through things at his pace. 

His arm planted in the space beside her head, free hand placed on her hip as he shifted to hover above her, his thumb rubbing gentle patterns into the ridge of the bone that defined her curves. The kiss broke for a moment as Annie took the time to admire the view that their positioning granted her. “You...” It was her turn to be speechless, searching through her poetess’ mind for the words to describe him. The moon, nearly full in the sky, created a halo at the edges of his loose curls as bronze locks were highlighted by the silvery light. At that moment, more than ever before, she fancied him an angel. Delicate hands, soft from a life of relative luxury, cupped his face, and held him just far enough away so that his visage drifted in and out of focus. It might’ve been a dream, as she was quite insane if she were to believe the words written about her in the papers. “Wow,” is the only phrase she could come up with to describe his beauty. Every word she had ever consumed or spat out was suddenly gone from her mind, as it was solely taken by the very concept of Finnick Odair and her desire for him. 

He laughed, and she joined in. They’re breathy, scented of the half-empty bottle of wine that still laid open some feet away. Finnick may have meant to say something, but they were drawn together as the tide to the coast, lips connecting once more as they always seemed to. His hand moved to her chest. Familiar territory at this point, though he still found just as much pleasure in the reaction of her body to the stimulation. His mouth replaced his hand, the flimsy top shimmied off her shoulders while he busied himself with the familiarization of her form. Goosebumps rose on her skin as his hand trailed downwards, hesitating at the upper edge of her shorts. 

The night had gone smoothly enough that Annie was unable to help her strained “Please keep going,” at the hesitation. Her encouragement seemed to aid in his confidence even if the preoccupation with her tits kept him from responding verbally. His hand slipped down into her shorts, slow enough to be both torturous and endearingly respectful, Soon enough he found a place where his fingertips ran down her slit with the gentlest pressure, testing the waters that already seemed to flow freely from her, inviting him in. Annie, with her desperation, could have wept with the relief and was eternally grateful for herself that she didn’t. 

One slid down her body to coax the shorts off her hips to allow him a bit more freedom. With her hand then moving to his face, one fingertip guided his chin upwards so that she could kiss him again, and she rolled her hips against his hand needily. She propped her upper body up on her elbow, searching for the closest connection that she could manage. 

As was typically the case when it came to her, he gave in with little need for convincing. 

One, and then two fingers press into the wet opening, his thumb applying a slow circle of pressure to her clit as he gauged her reaction. Her stomach filled with warmth in response, the kiss fragmented by the quiet sounds of pleasure that she fought to contain while he settled into what he deemed to be a comfortable speed as judged by the minute reactions to his every move. His digits curled inside of her, a proud smirk on his lips while he basked in the reactions he was able to pull out of her, adjusting his efforts to the jerky movement of her hips. 

A task that was once arduous found new meaning in his heart through the heat from her body, temporarily pushing aside the threats and dangers of the world. For now, all else ceased to exist. 

When it became apparent that a proper kiss wasn’t quite feasible anymore his lips moved to her neck, willing her head to tilt to the side to accommodate him. A string of hot kisses, occasionally punctuated by actions that would leave a mark to clear up in a few days’ time. These marks, however, were always subsequently soothed by his tongue. Annie was sure that she could live in the sweet tension forever, hands fumbling with the remaining buttons on his worn linen shirt. Of course, she couldn’t remove it what with the preoccupation of his hand at her hips, exploring places in her that she wasn’t entirely sure existed prior to this moment. “I want you,” she blurted out through a swirl of lust. “Do you want to keep going?” Her desire for him, raging through her in a way she’d never understand, couldn’t blind her to the reality of their situation. Everything was going well, but that didn’t mean that she could assume that wouldn’t change on a dime. 

The hesitation is still there, she expected no less, as he contemplated her words and his answer. When he does speak, she’s delighted by the gruff tone his voice took, lowered with his want, or rather, need for her and all she entailed. “Annie, yes, please.” 

His voice set her nerve endings alight, blazing through her skin like the flame that continued to dance across their bare skin as she helped to undress him. Annie’s hand trailed down, down, down his body, committing every crest and trough of his muscle set to memory. Then, she felt the tensed sensation just before she could reach his member. An immediate stop. Her eyes scanned him for the signal that she should move away entirely. Thankfully, she notices a calm wash over him when her hand is removed, falling quite literally anywhere else. Baby steps, he would learn to accept pleasure some other time. He was still learning to forgive himself for being human. 

She raised her eyebrows at him, wordlessly checking in on how he felt. Nodding was his response, and she smiled wide enough that he thought her to be the face in the moon. 

A breathless “I love you so much,” crossed Annie’s lips as he helped to ease her into laying down again, his hand supporting the back of her head. 

“I love you, too,” He promised, sealed with a kiss on her forehead. He couldn’t help but smile at the intimacy of it all, something so sweet and so deliciously separate from the mechanical set of actions and phrases previously burned into his mind. 

One more final questioning glance from the both of them was met with consenting kisses and assurances before their worlds collided in a way Annie was quite sure that the rest of humanity might never understand. A moan escaped as he entered her, muffled as she pressed her face into the crook of his shoulder and neck. 

She figured that it was easier to not share words, they knew how to communicate through their touch and the involuntary sounds stemming from pleasure. With his body pressed flush to hers, buried wholly inside of her, she found herself composing symphonies that would be gone from her mind in an instant. 

A steady rhythm of movements was eventually achieved once both parties overcame the initial euphoria. Annie’s leg hooked around his hips and his hand cupped her ass, aiding in her effort to meet him halfway. The actions in themselves were nothing new— he with his long string of past lovers and she with hers— but the magic lied in the experience of sharing a world of their own. New literacies encased in their connection led to enlightenment, building up to the eventual release of all tensions. 

Faces contorted as opposite voices cried out with pleasure, each muscle in their bodies pulsing with feverish heat. A climax is shared and her nails scratched against his back (she would apologize for that later), his hands gripping her flesh with enough force to ground himself. When he collapsed on her, Annie found it in herself to laugh again as she rode out the last of an orgasm that shook her to the very core. 

“We did it,” she realized, though Annie wasn’t aware until much, much later how much of a feat of had really been, nor was she aware how much struggle they still had to come. “Do you feel alright, mi amor?” 

Finnick, only half as coherent as Annie, found himself reveling in the safety that the constant of the ocean and the pounding of her heart provided as he laid his head on her chest. How odd, but so very welcome, that some waif of a woman so often found herself the giver of these comforts. Her arms wrapped around him, hands planted in his hair, and he was suddenly sure that he had never been better. As much as he wanted to convey a world’s worth of appreciation and absolute adoration to the person who now held a portion of his soul, all he could manage was a nod and a smile that he hoped she could feel. She, in turn, could offer a kiss on his head and the company of someone to watch the daybreak with. 

With the sun teasing the horizon and his hair tickling her skin, Annie Cresta came to the slow discovery that there would surely be no love truer than the one that they forged in their continued trials. 


End file.
